Acerbus
by LittleKnux2008
Summary: Sometimes, in the brief moments of clarity that would occasionally encompass her, she wondered if that was why she had viewed her own free fall with such distance.


**Author's Note: **Sometimes I like to accept challenges that are a little outside of the norm than I usually write - and the one I recieved that spawned this story certainly was. So if the characters are a little OOC, please take that into consideration. If you're curious, the challenge is located at the bottom of the story.

**Warnings: **This story contains self-harm, mentions of suicide, possibly graphic images, and sex. It's rated M for a reason, folks. :)

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**Acerbus**

Sometimes, as her body tosses and turns in unsatisfactory sleep, Elizabeth dreams about how things used to be. Her smile is brilliant and bold, her steps confident as she approaches faceless men in suits with black briefcases hanging loosely at their sides. Scenes fly by in dizzying blurs of light and somehow, her mind falls away into the darkness, watching her dark curls disappear in the last glimpse of light.

And then she is alone. The blackness is like an icy cold that seeps through every inch of her, polluting her and changing her. She tries to fight it, but she cannot. Darker shadows flit around her, warped faces and hostile expressions jeering at her as she feels her life, her soul, her mind, slowly slip away from her and bleed into the dark.

Eventually the nightmare releases its hold and she wakes up in a sun-soaked room, the light so blinding that it takes her a minute to focus. But even then, she feels cloaked in a shadow that no one else can see. The darkness has settled into her blood and pumps through her body, into her heart, as she stands and gazes into the mirror.

Months of this have left their mark. Elizabeth touches the surface with her fingertips and stares in wonder at her own image. Her hair is a mess from sleep, but all she does is readjust the clip keeping the greasy strands in place. Chapped lips fade in with her pallor, leaving only two dead orbs of green and brown to color her face. Small lines on her face – wrinkles by her eyes and on the edges of her lips; memories of laughs and happiness encased there forever – had been overcome by slashes of folded skin across her forehead and cheeks. Her appearance was only appropriate – she had thought of herself as a vessel of the darkness for so long and now she looked just the same; looking into the mirror, she saw an impassable shell, surrounding something deep and untold within her.

Slowly, with a grace granted only by grief, she found her uniform and slowly began to change, discarding her gray sweats and white tank top on the unmade bed as she did so. Long, silvery lines stretched across her body in various places and she ran her fingers over them, memorizing their feel. Smooth across the arch of her foot, jagged from her knee to her inner thigh, deep and angry across her concave stomach… She paused at the X over her breastbone, cool fingers brushing gently on the raised skin.

It had felt like an epiphany when she had picked up the blade and had brought it across the skin and bone overlaying her heart; just to cut away what hurt, to amputate the agony boiling through her. Carson had found her in the hallway outside, topless, blood flowing freely down her chest, blade in her hand, a faraway look in her eyes, unsure whether to run to the infirmary for help or return to her quarters. Elizabeth remembered the terror that had filled Carson, and slowly retracted her fingers.

He'd been worried about her for a long time before that incident, had been blatant and upfront about it, but this was the final step. His worry for her stripped her of her leadership of Atlantis and left her sentenced to thrice-a-week sessions with Doctor Heightmeyer and mindlessly reviewing the paperwork of potential treaties between Atlantis and other cities.

During her time as a negotiator on Earth, Elizabeth had learned to deal with various types of people. She was a psychologist without a degree. Sometimes, in the brief moments of clarity that would occasionally encompass her, she wondered if that was why she had viewed her own free fall with such distance. When Heightmeyer gently prodded her to move forward, she did, but only in a shroud of dishonesty, playing the act her real-life psychology had taught her so well so Carson wouldn't perform one of his invasive evaluations and find the new scars on the backs of her knees.

Elizabeth went through her public life in a mist today, just like all the other days, speaking little and only when it was necessary. At night, she wound her way to Caldwell's quarters, far away from the control room. The door opened, she stepped in, it shut behind her, and then, just like every other night, they fucked.

Anger, guilt, remorse, panic, and other indecipherable emotions guided them as they went. Love, friendship, and happiness had long since escaped them, and they were unforgiving and uncaring as they ravaged each other, looking for some temporary solace in the heat of their bodies pressed against one another. There was no exchange of words afterwards – just the silent gathering of clothes. They already knew everything that mattered: she blamed him, he blamed himself, and this was nothing but something to feel other than the pain that ripped them into shreds every morning. Each time she left, she felt like a piece of her had been torn away and left behind. She hoped that it tore her to her skeleton to the bone so the blackness in her would bleed away into the air.

The door to her room slid shut some time later, and she quietly sat down and pulled the pocketknife from her pants, opening the blade and stretching her leg. She surveyed her landscape before pressing the blade down on unmarred skin. Blood rose to the surface fairly quickly, extending across the skin, tendrils of life escaping her. But the darkness stayed in her, and she felt nothing but a light tingle.

She was still broken. Elizabeth held a rag to the wound until it stopped bleeding and carefully set the pocketknife onto her nightstand before changing and going to bed. Her eyes fluttered shut, and dreams captured her as soon as she fell asleep. Again, her life before Atlantis began to play, feeding her a brief glimpse of peace before collapsing into darkness.

But this time, it wasn't the familiar darkness, but the darkness of space, stars twinkling brightly in the distance. Around her, the crew of the _Daedulus _sprinted from problem to problem, but there were far too many and far too few people. The ship was hanging by a thread.

"Sheppard, what's your position? Sheppard, do you read me?" Caldwell's voice continued to bark into the earpiece.

Elizabeth stepped forward and stared at the planet below them and tried to get a glimpse of the Hive Ship bearing down on them. She had been negotiating a treaty with the people of the planet when the Wraith showed up and it was revealed that the people actually worshipped the Wraith. Caldwell had been able to beam her up from the planet, but John and his team were still stranded down there. Seconds ago, a white culling beam – larger than any Elizabeth had ever seen – had shot from the Hive Ship and had rapidly begun to expand where it touched the planet. It was alarming for more reasons than that the Wraith's technology was advancing: if it continued to enlarge, AR-1 would be beamed aboard the Hive Ship in no time.

"This is McKay!" Rodney's voice cut through the radio silence.

"McKay, what's your status?"

"The Wraith…culling beam…running…" his words were disjointed and constantly interrupted by static.

"McKay, I can't–"

"Just…listen. SG-1…it works, okay?"

"What works?"

"Fly…to the base…beam…five seconds after I say."

Caldwell glanced at Elizabeth. "He wants us to fly into the culling beam," he said incredulously, and reactivated his radio. "We can't fly the ship into the beam, McKay."

"It's…only chance."

There was silence on the radio when Caldwell looked at Elizabeth. By his side, one of the crew was spouting off something about the proportionate size of the ship to the beam, and that it was probable that they wouldn't be sucked into it, or maybe it only focused on objects on the planet's surface. The potential explanations were like a faint buzz in Elizabeth's ears. It was Rodney's plan – it would work. But Caldwell quickly found the negatives and struggled with the decision.

"We cannot run any longer!" it was Teyla's voice that broke through the static now.

"Doctor Weir–" Caldwell went to seek for her advice.

She didn't waste a minute in telling him. "Do it."

"All right," Rodney spoke again. "I hope you're ready. Three…"

Caldwell hesitated.

"Sir?" one of the technicians prompted.

"Two…"

"Go," Caldwell commanded, just as Rodney said "one." Elizabeth watched a bright flash in the beam appear at the bottom and shoot its way up to the top. The _Daedulus _seemed to have come to a standstill, despite the screens that declared sublight engines operating at over 100. They came closer and closer to the beam.

The five seconds they had to reach the beam was just under the amount of time they needed. In disbelief and horror, Elizabeth watched the flash disappear into the Hive Ship. Her heart shattered then, in the deep black of space.

Suddenly, Elizabeth awoke, spared this night the replay of receiving the bodies of her closet friends. They had been fed on and discarded on some random planet. Allies of Atlantis had recognized the dogtags around their necks and dialed their friends with the heavy news. The four bodies came through the 'gate on stretchers, their pallbearers pale and silent, eyes misted with tears they would not cry. She had walked to the group, looked upon the corpses. Her heart had already been lost, so this blow shattered her mind.

Today, Elizabeth stood and began her daily routine once more. It was a surprise when she saw her reflection in her mirror once more. She had nearly expected to see an aged body, sightless eyes, ratty hair, stretched skin, and a mouth gaping in pain and horror. Whatever there had been of Elizabeth Weir, it had gone with John and the others. She had promised herself to always remember them, but remembering had turned out to be all that she could do.

Kate told her – before Elizabeth had begun with the lies – that she would begin to move on in little ways, first. She would forget the loss for minutes at a time. In due time, she would be able to focus on other things. To live life for both herself and her fallen friends, not just to go through the motions. Privately, Elizabeth added dispensing of her both beloved and hated pocketknife to the list of recovery steps.

But privately, she knew the probability was much, much greater that she would stab it into her throat rather than throw it away. She eyed it now, considering.

_Another day_, she decided, fingering the cross hanging at her throat. She wondered why she wore it. Religion was something she had abandoned a long time ago. The Bible told her of a deep Hell that came after she would take her own life. She compared it with her Hell and decided that God's was far (more) preferable.

A few minutes later, she was ready to face her coworkers. Elizabeth glanced back for a long moment at her quarters. Sometime soon, she knew her judgment day would come. She would walk into this room and either never leave again or leave with determination and faith in herself.

For now, she felt the darkness inside squeeze her heart, drawing that day closer and closer with each moment.

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**Challenge: **_Four specifications: _Elizabeth doing physical harm to herself, no happy ending, Elizabeth/Caldwell, a suicide attempt.


End file.
